Lifeline
by Padria95
Summary: The team is called to a hostage situation on the 35th floor of a building. All is not as it seems, and, as the pieces start to come together, one of the team is critically injured. Will the team be able to solve the mystery and save their teammate? Sam and Ed focused (not slash), with Spike in later chapters. (Despite how it looks in the first chapter, I do not write deathfics!)
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. **Hi everyone! I've been skulking around the edges of FanFiction, enjoying reading fabulous stories and watching writers come up with incredible new ideas, and have finally decided to take the plunge and try writing one myself. This is my first story for FanFic. I am open to constructive criticism and ideas. This story is almost (hopefully) finished, so I hope to have my updates be fairly regular.

This is just the prologue, the first part of the "episode" where we start in the middle and things seem to be going wrong. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

I do not own Flashpoint, nor any of the characters therein. I have only borrowed them for a little while for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Dangling from the roof of a forty story building, outside the thirty-fifth story window, he presses the trigger button and the windows keeping the SRU out, shatter. The bang of the blast slams into his ears and all appears to go be going well, but then, as he prepares to enter the room, something goes wrong. He can feel the impact of the bullet hitting his chest long before the echo of the shot reverberates in his already ringing ears. The bullet punches through his vest with contemptuous ease, mocking the Kevlar that is supposed to keep him safe, and lodging itself firmly in his body: a place where no bullet belongs. It is only moments later that he feels another impact, and a second metal cylinder slices into his chest, coming to rest very close to the first. He feels his grip on the line he is attached to (his literal life line) go slack and immediately his stomach surges upward as his body quickly descends on a rapid one way trip to meet the ground. There is little time for his life to flash before his eyes, in fact the only image he sees is the snow covered ground rushing up to meet him; the snow is beautiful, but it will do little to cushion his body from the four hundred and twenty foot drop. The pain in his chest magnifies as he twists in the air and his vision begins to fade. But, known for his stubbornness, the release from pain that unconsciousness offers waits just long enough for him to hear a resounding _CRACK!_... then all is nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. **I do not own Flashpoint, nor any of the characters therein. I have only borrowed them for a little while for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Four_ Hours Earlier..._

The gray house on the corner was nothing to behold. Its snow covered lawn was tidy with no trace of a child's snow imaginations. Its windows were kept clean, and its driveway was shoveled. Inside the gray house the coffee pot beeped a protest as it finished its fifth brew that morning. A man in his late twenties rushed down the stairs of the house and into the kitchen to pour the steaming coffee into a large mug. He placed the mug on a tray already laden with toast and fruit and, carefully maneuvering around the treacherous countertop corners, went upstairs. He passed a child's bedroom on the way down the hall—a room filled with unused unicorns and forgotten fairies—which seemed odd because it was clear that no child lived in that house. The young man entered the master bedroom, and, placing the tray on a stand next to the bed, bent to kiss his sleeping wife's forehead. He stroked her cheek a moment, propped a note against the coffee mug, made sure the covers were snug against her chin to keep out the chill, then slipped out of the room.

Downstairs, he put on his coat, grabbed his wallet and keys, and left the house quietly. As he walked to his car in the driveway a careful observer might have noticed the tear that he quickly brushed away, or the fact that his hands were shaking (then again, it was very cold outside and he'd forgotten his gloves), but it would have taken a trained eye to notice the bulge beneath his jacket that gave away the presence of a small handgun tucked where no one could see. Alas there were no observers to be seen at six a.m. on a Saturday morning, they were all snuggled down in blankets, asleep, trying to keep the January cold at bay.

The woman upstairs awoke to the sound of his car starting, but she did not rush to say a goodbye, instead she stared at the wall for a long time. Finally, she mustered the energy to sit up, and, turning, noticed the tray of food her husband had thoughtfully left for her. Sighing, she heaved herself up against the headboard and reached for the note. After reading it, she smiled for the first time in months: _"My Dearest Trudy, It comes full circle today. At last Izzy gets her revenge."_

Across town, a woman was leaving the front door of a very similar house. She too started her car and drove away, but a careful observer would not have noticed any hint of danger about her. No shaking hands, no hidden guns. They would have been wrong.

**SRU Headquarters**

"Who put on Beauty and the Briefcase?! Exercising is hard enough without having to watch this mush!"

Sam was just finishing changing into his workout clothes when he heard Spike's outraged yell come from the weight room. He looked at Greg (also just finished changing) and grinned. "I win, it only took him ten seconds to notice."

Greg nodded ruefully. "Fourth time's the charm I guess." Sam had just won their third bet straight: the previous two being a bet on how long it would take Ed to find his "misplaced" hat (Spike was the responsible party) and how long Jules would need to change into a dress (Greg had guessed five minutes, Sam had correctly guessed two. Though Greg was pretty sure that Jules and Sam had ganged up on him for that one). At this point he was beginning to wonder if Sam was somehow pulling the wool over his eyes because he thought he knew his team better than that.

His musings were cut short when Sam called out. "Spike, who lives with three daughters and a wife, hunh? Who is the one that _always_ subjects us to these terrible movies?" He exited the locker room and was met with Spike's angry glare.

"It was a rhetorical question Sam." The Italian cast around the room searching for the person responsible for the horrendous movie choice. "Wordy, I swear man, you have _got_ to stop bringing these things here! Just look up their synopses online or something!"

Wordy, who was currently having a battle with the weights, rolled his eyes. "I tried that already but this movie doesn't have one and the girls want to watch it tomorrow night so I need to know what I'm getting into. Besides, _you_ were the one that wanted to watch Just Like Heaven."

"Hey, whoa, you cannot find fault with Just Like Heaven. That is the best chick flick ever, and the only one I like. It's got humor, it's got great acting, it's got a happy endin—"

"Guys," Jules cut in from the treadmill, "it's Wordy's day so he gets to put us through whatever horror he wants to, he will just have to deal with the consequences later." She winked at him. "Maybe some shaving cream stuffed in his boot, or some perfumed shampoo? I think you're pretty creative Spike."

"Now wait a minute." Wordy protested. "Don't go giving him any ideas Jules!"

Spike grinned evily before exclaiming, "Too late!"

Sam, who by this time had given up trying to start pull-ups due to the fact that laughter and lifting your full body weight do not mix, chuckled and slapped Wordy on the back. "Nice knowing you man. You may want to look into flights to the Philippines before the morning is up."

Ed had so far managed to avoid entering into the perilous debate brewing between his teammates, but at the opportunity Sam offered, he couldn't resist a few jabs at the Italian. "Oh come on Sam, Spike's wrath isn't any worse than a fly: a lot of annoyance but nothing to worry about."

Spike's mouth dropped open. "Oh Ed, you did not just say that. Are you forgetting the time I put glue on the inside of your boots? You couldn't get your socks out of them for weeks and you finally had to get a whole new pair because you couldn't stand the smell!"

Ed, who had forgotten about that particular ordeal, paled at remembering the stench that would waft from his favorite pair of boots for a two week period after he had made the mistake of criticizing Babycakes. He opened his mouth to defend himself but never got the chance.

"Team One, Hot Call!" Winnie's voice came over the intercom. "Andrew Bank downtown, thirty-fifth floor. Shots fired, multiple hostages."

* * *

**A.N. **A little slow to start and short, I know, but there was some setup to do. Action to come in the next chapters! And I have never seen Beauty and the Briefcase-I have nothing against it-it was just the movie that seemed to fit the situation.

Also, I am not an expert in anything medical, geographical, or any other area. I have created a fictional building, as I have never been to Toronto, so please excuse anything that conflicts with the actual buildings and streets (etc) in Toronto.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. **In response to a guest reviewer's question, Sam and Jules are not currently together. This is set probably around very early season four, or even late season three. Jules and Sam are not together and Wordy is still on the team. I didn't feel I would be able to properly capture Jules and Sam's relationship, so I chose to focus more on Ed and Sam's friendship.

I do not own Flashpoint or any of the characters therein. I have borrowed them only for entertainment purposes.

* * *

**Andrew Bank**

Team One arrived on scene 15 minutes after the shots were heard. Sam exited his SUV with Ed and immediately looked up at the building that held the gunman. He whistled. "Wow. I wouldn't want to fall from that height."

"No one would." Ed agreed, before changing his focus to the task at hand he turned to Greg. "What do you want to do Boss? Initiate contact?"

Greg took a few moments to contemplate the best course of action before nodding. "Let's see if we can get whoever it is to pick up the conference room phone. Spike!"

"On it." The Italian called, already heading into the van.

"Ed," Greg continued, "Let's get some eyes and ears up there."

Nodding in agreement Ed quickly gave his team their orders. "All right, listen up! We've been told while en-route that the building is being evacuated. Currently floors 36-40 and 32-34 are cleared. The subject seems entirely uninterested in hindering people from escaping from the upper floors through the stairwells. Instead, he has locked himself in a conference room on the south side with multiple hostages from the bank that occupies that floor. Jules you're Sierra One. Find the highest perch you can and try to get a look in that room. Spike, stay with the Boss in the van. Wordy and Sam you come with me and we'll try to find an entry point in case this thing goes south. Let's move!"

Scattering to their assigned locations, Jules raced to grab her rifle before heading towards the tallest building directly across the street. Its roof was about level with the 35th floor, and while ideally she would have liked to be a little higher, there was no higher ground to be found.

Ed led Wordy and Sam on the long trek up the stairs. It was times like these that they wished the elevators were _not_ shut down in cases of emergency.

"Hey Ed," Sam called over his shoulder, "you regretting those pancakes yet?"

Despite himself, he had to laugh. Sophie had cooked him pancakes that morning, and while he normally declined such heavy food on days where his shift started mid-morning, he couldn't resist her sweet smile. "Never! I would never… in… my life… regret eating… Sophie's… pancakes!" He puffed. He knew he wasn't in bad shape, but jogging up 35 flights of stairs in full gear would take a toll on anyone. When Sam laughed good naturedly, not sounding winded at all, Ed glanced up towards him and frowned, rephrasing his thoughts: it took a toll on any _normal_ human being, just apparently not on SRU officers that were ex-special forces. He muttered to himself, complaining about upstart kids that weren't human, and continued to puff along. His mutterings were cut short when Sam informed them they'd reached the 35th floor. "Boss," Ed called over the coms, "we're at the door. We'll snake a camera underneath and see what we can see."

"Copy that, Ed." Came Greg's reply. "We're trying to establish contact now, but the subject hasn't picked up yet."

"Copy." Ed turned to his teammates. "Wordy? Care to do the honors?"

He nodded, getting out the camera snake and moving forward to stand by Ed.

Down in the command truck, the sound of a phone could be heard ringing, and ringing and ringing…

"Come on." Greg murmured. "Jules! Do you have eyes in yet?"

"That's a negative boss, but I'll have it in just a moment."

"Let me know as soon as you do. This guy isn't giving me anything."

In her perch on the rooftop, Jules quickly went about setting up her rifle and scope. It was cold, but there was a blanket in the rifle bag that she placed on the concrete. It wasn't much, but it would help keep the concrete from sapping all of the warmth out of her. "Sierra One in position." She focused through her scope and scanned the building. "It looks like the intel is good; from what I can see, all of the south rooms are empty but one. I see one subject and nine hostages. I do not have a clear shot on the subject, too much risk of a hostage getting hit by a through and through. The door is on the north wall opposite the windows, and it's barricaded with pretty solid looking shelves and tables. The hostages are lined up all along the barricade…" She paused as she took in the subject's behavior. "Boss… are you calling that conference room's phone?"

Hearing the change in her tone, a little worry started to gnaw at his stomach. "Yes. Why?"

"Boss, he's just staring at the phone. He's got a gun in his hand and he's braced his arms on either side of the phone and he's just standing there…"

As he took in this latest news, Greg tried to plan his next move. If the subject wasn't going to answer the phone and initiate negotiations, this could get ugly. "Spike," he murmured, "try calling one more time."

A few clicks of the Italian's fingers, and once again a ringing could be heard throughout the teams' coms. Everyone held their breaths. It rang once… twice… four times… and on the sixth and last time someone finally picked up.

Before Greg could say a word the subject spoke. "I assume I'm speaking with a sergeant of the Strategic Response Unit?"

Greg was surprised at the subject's knowledge but tried not to let it show. "This is Sergeant Greg Parker with the Strategic Response Unit, yes. With whom am I speaking?"

A sigh sounded over the line. "I'm not the important one today. It's not about me so let's just leave my name out of this."

"Okay, what should I call you then?"

There was a long pause before finally, "Izzys. You can call me Izzys."

Greg silenced the phone momentarily and whispered to Spike. "See if you can find any connection. If he's 'not the important one today' then that name he gave me must be, otherwise he wouldn't have given me anything." Unmuting the line, he addressed the subject. "All right Izzys, how are you thinking this will play out today?"

"It's time for someone to pay. It's _finally_ time for someone to pay for what they've done. It's been a whole _year_ and nothing's changed!" The man's voice sounded more and more agitated. "A whole year and she still has trouble getting out of bed! I can't even walk into my house without thinking about what I've lost… about what they did to me!"

While Izzy kept ranting, Greg again silenced his end of the line so he could converse with his team. "Ed, Wordy, what's it looking like up there?"

"We've cleared the floor boss; Jules is right, they're all holed up in the conference room. There's only the one door accessing it and we can't breach that if it's barricaded and the hostages are in front of it."

Greg grimaced. "I need another option Ed! This guy is escalating, and fast, and we need a way in there!"

"We could go in from the windows." Sam offered. Ed met his eye and nodded for him to continue. "I was looking at some blueprints on the ride over, and I think there's a stable anchor that we could attach our lines to on the roof that would land us directly above the windows." He paused, waiting for people to shoot down the ridiculous idea, but when no one did, he ploughed on. "If the hostages are all against the north wall, that puts them furthest from the explosion. We throw in flash bangs immediately after the windows go, and since there's only one subject and he only has one hand gun… It's less than ideal but I think that might be our only option."

Greg sighed. "You're right Sam, that's way less than ideal—"

"But he's right boss." Spike broke in. He'd been furiously working away at the computer for the past few minutes and had pulled up the blueprints Sam had been looking at. "The west and east walls are solid concrete: if we blew those there's no telling what sort of shrapnel would hit the hostages, not to mention the possible repercussions with the ceiling, because it looks like those two are main supports. If the north wall and door are barricaded with the hostages lined up in front like Jules says, then our only option is the south wall and the windows… there aren't even vents into that room that we could exploit."

Rubbing his face with his hands, Greg prayed he was not about to make the worst decision of the day. "Okay. Ed, Sam, prepare for entry from the outside via the south windows. Wordy, back them up. Keep me posted. Spike, any idea as to why this man is here? Why he's doing this?"

"Negative boss. I'm working on it."

Greg nodded and unmuted the microphone, putting his sole focus on the words that Izzys was saying.

"—I mean, they lied to us! They said she'd be safe, that there was no way she'd get hurt! They swore they'd get her out and they didn't!" He screamed into the phone. "And then I met her, and she offered me this, and everything's changing!"

At the briefest of pauses in his confusing tirade, Greg broke in. "Sir! Sir, who is 'they?'" When he received no response, he changed tactics. "Izzys? Who did this to you?" He heard the man on the other end of the phone take a deep breath, before continuing more calmly.

"You want to know my story Greg? You want to know why I'm out here this morning? Of course, you should really know, but I guess I'll let your stupidity slide. January 17th. Last year. Call me back when you understand." The line went dead.

"Already on it boss." Spike preempted the sergeant's request for information. "January 17… January 17… what happened on January 17 last year? Oh… damn."


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N. **I do not own Flashpoint, I have only borrowed it and the characters for entertainment person only.

* * *

Surprised by the uncharacteristic word that came from the Italian's mouth, Greg raised an eyebrow. "Spike?"

"It's us! We're the 'they!'" He yelled. "January 17th! Last year! There was a robbery at this very bank that went south! A group of first graders were on their field trip visiting the bank when the robbers broke in. A hostage situation ensued, headed by the SRU's Team Two, and all in all it was a successful outcome—the subjects were caught rather quickly—but one of the fifty-six hostages died. The casualty was an Isabelle Maclaney, 6 years old!"

Geg's heart ached thinking about the life lost so young. "Isabelle. Izzys. Bring up a picture of her father and send it to Jules. She's the only one who's seen our subject. He said that 'he' isn't the important one today, and then he gave us Izzys' name so I'd bet anything..." He let his voice trail off as Spike went to work.

Moments later, Jules confirmed that Mr. Maclaney was indeed the man in the conference room of the bank.

"Okay guys, we've identified the subject and it sounds like he's after revenge. During the hostage situation last year, he must have spoken with a member of Team Two and thought that they were promising to get his daughter out. When he discovered he lost her… well, I imagine he's had a pretty rough time this past year, and now he's recreating what happened and probably trying to make us the victims in some way. Everyone proceed with extreme caution. We still don't know _exactly_ why he's here, nor what he is planning. Right now it is our priority to secure the hostages—"

"Boss!" Jules' voice crackled over the coms. "Things are escalating in there! He's moving very aggressively towards the hostages, and even starting to aim his weapon at them."

"Sam! Ed! What's your status?" He demanded. Things were moving way too fast for his liking, and he had a terrible gut feeling that no matter what he did, this was not going to end well.

Up on the roof, Sam had just finished attaching his line and moved towards the edge of the building when Greg demanded their position. "We're rappelling as we speak, we should be directly above the windows in moments. There are two windows into the room, both are floor to ceiling but the east one is considerably wider. We were originally planning on both entering through that window, but believe it will be better if we come from two different spots. Ed and I will not be able to see each other; there's a two foot concrete protrusion running between the windows from the 38th floor down to the 20th." Trying to lighten the mood, he added, "I think it's supposed to be artistic, but I'm going to have words with the brilliant architect that decided it was a good idea."

Ed couldn't help smiling as Sam disappeared behind the offending 'artistic concrete.' They reached the top of the 35th floor window, and Ed took over the radio. "Boss, we've reached our position. We'll attach the explosives to the very top of the window, out of his sight because I can see that the blinds are down about a foot. Sam and I will then drop down on either side of the window, remove our main lines, and prepare to enter. We'll wait for your signal."

"Copy that, Ed. Spike, get him on the phone again."

The subject picked up and their conversation floated through the coms, but Sam tuned them out, instead focusing on the task at hand. The breeze clawed at his jacket, pulling at the parts that were loose from his vest, as he carefully started placing the charges. He was glad his gloves were so warm, otherwise he worried that he'd drop the explosives because of numb hands. As it was, his face was already well on its way to being frozen, and he was having trouble feeling his toes. "Hey Ed," he called softly through the coms. "Two more charges to go. How's it going over there? You drop one? I almost did."

A quiet bark of laughter sounded in his ear. "Not funny Sam! Can you imagine what would happen if one of these things fell on the spectators below? I appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood, but let's focus."

Sam grinned and couldn't resist one more jab. "I wasn't kidding."

There was a pause. "What was that? You're saying you seriously almost dropped an armed explosive over four hundred feet?!"

"Nope." Sam said cheekily, placing the last charge, grateful for the brief stress relief the banter supplied. "Just kidding."

Ed swore. "Don't do that to me! I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't think my heart could take that!"

"Last charge set." Sam said briskly, switching into his fully focused mode.

"Copy that. Last charge set here, too. Dropping to side and disengaging main lines, ready for entry."

Sam, who was entering through the larger, east window, moved to the right and lowered himself so that he was even with the base of the window. "Hey Spike."

"Yeah Samtastic?" Spike asked.

"Is the immediate area beneath us being cleared of people? These windows will mostly blow in just a few feet, but I'm sure there will be some stray pieces that'll go out."

"Already being taken care of, Sam. You just hang tight."

He could hear the Italian's grin in his voice. "Not exactly the right time, Spike." He grimaced as he detached the main line from his harness and held on to it for dear life.

"Actually, I was thinking it was the perfect time, seeing as you are quite literally hangin—"

"Spike!" Ed cut in. "Next time, we'll give you this job and then you can see how you like all of the joking!"

"Seeing as I'd probably be the one coming up with all of the jokes, since you guys have a sad lack of inspiration when it comes to these kinds of things, I think I'd like it just fine." The Italian retorted.

All joking leaving the air, they began to tune back into the conversation Greg was having with the subject. It sounded like Greg was getting nowhere, and the subject's voice was rising. The last thing he said before hanging up, in response to Greg's assumption that he must be feeling lonely up there, was: "I am _not_ alone! I'll prove it to you!"

After a moment, Jules broke in frantically, "Boss! He's escalated! He's moving towards the hostages and he's pulling one out of the bunch and pinning her against the wall! I do not have a shot, I repeat, no joy!"

Greg swore. "All right, Ed, Sam it's a go! We've lost contact and he's threatening the hostages! He's escalated to a red and I don't think he's coming back from this!"

"Copy that." Sam replied. "Ed, you ready?"

"Copy, Sam. On my count of three we'll each detonate."

Sam turned his back to the window, still tightly clutching his line, and maneuvered the detonation device into his grip. He blew out a breath.

"One." Came Ed's murmured voice over the coms.

He licked his cold chapped lips and swallowed.

"Two."

He breathed in one final breath, before letting it out fully, and with it, all thoughts of anything other than what he was about to execute.

"Three."

Both he and Ed pressed down on their detonators.

"WAIT!" Spike's desperate scream sounded over the radio in the split second before the boom of the glass shattering deafened them.

The bang of the blast slammed into Sam's ears, and all appeared to be going well as he tossed a flash bang into the now gaping window and prepared to enter, but then… things fell apart. He felt the impact of a bullet hitting his chest long before the echo of the shot reverberated in his already ringing ears. The bullet punched through his vest with contemptuous ease, mocking the Kevlar that was supposed to keep him safe, and lodged itself firmly in his body: a place no bullet belonged. A moment later, he felt the impact of a second metal cylinder slicing into his chest, coming to rest very close to the first. He felt his grip on the line go slack and immediately his stomach surged upwards as his body descended on a rapid one way trip towards the ground. There was little time for his life to flash before his eyes… in fact, the only image he saw was the snow covered ground rushing up to meet him; the snow was beautiful, but it would do little to cushion his body from the four hundred and twenty foot drop. The pain in his chest magnified as he twisted in the air, and his vision began to fade… but, known for his stubbornness, the release from pain that unconsciousness offered, waited just long enough for him to hear a resounding _CRACK!... _then he knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N. **So this chapter takes place sort of at the same time as the previous chapter, just from a different point of view so we get more pieces of the puzzle. You'll see some dialogue repeated so you know when things are taking place, but you'll also see new dialogue. Because it's pretty short, and still leaves you at a cliffhanger as to whether Sam's okay, I may try to post another one later today (if I can type fast enough)!

Again, I do not own Flashpoint, I have merely borrowed the characters for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

_Minutes earlier…_

Ed sounded over the radio. "Boss, we've reached our position. We'll attach the explosives to the very top of the window, out of his sight because I can see that the blinds are down about a foot. Sam and I will then drop down on either side of the window, remove our main lines, and prepare to enter. We'll wait for your signal."

"Copy that, Ed. Spike, get him on the phone again."

"Will do." The tech expert's fingers flew and moments later the phone was ringing.

"Sergeant Parker. I assume you know."

A flag went up in Greg's mind; Izzys was distancing himself by calling him 'Sergeant' instead of 'Greg.' "Yes, Mr. Maclaney, I know about Isabelle."

There was a noise from the other side of the line that almost sounded like a sigh of relief. "Then you know why I'm doing this."

"No, I'm afraid I don't Mr. Maclaney. Can you explain to me why you are holding nine innocent people hostage? Have they done anything to you?"

"No, they have not." Came his cool reply, which concerned Greg; he just couldn't get a read on this guy. One moment the subject was calm and collected, the next he was enraged and incoherent, and then there were these moments were he seemed too detached for Greg's liking. He heard Spike furiously typing in the background—as well as verbally sparring with Ed and Sam—and hoped that he could come up with something soon.

"So why are you holding them hostage? What about letting them go and we can talk about this just you and me?"

"No! That's not an option! You have to pay for what you did to Izzy! This has to happen like this! There is no other way!" He shouted frantically.

"I understand that you're feeling lost and confused and angry that Izzy was taken from you, but your anger is being misplaced. Those people in that room with you are not the ones responsible for Izzy's death!" Greg held his breath, hoping he hadn't gone too far, but he needed the man to start seeing the hostages as people. When there was no response, he continued cautiously. "What happened that day was a tragedy, but you need to move on. This? This won't solve anything. All it will do is make your life harder."

"I'm not alone, and I don't think 'solve' is the right word, Sergeant. I'm not looking to _'solve'_ anything, but personally serving up retribution to the people that deserve it? That's another story." He replied calmly. "I understand that these people are not guilty—they have done nothing to me—but you have."

Greg would have expected him to shout that last part, but instead, he said it as if he was saying "hello" or "how are you." The SRU sergeant covered his microphone again. "Spike, is this guy on medication or something? He's swinging back and forth between rage and calm and it's worrying me."

"Uh…" The tech paused in his work and quickly scanned through the man's files. "That would be a negative."

Even more confused, Greg was about to continue with Mr. Maclaney when Spike added, "his wife, on the other hand, looks like she's been having some issues this past year. She's being treated for severe depression, quit her job… I've tried contacting her and there's been no response from the house phone."

Recalling the subject's earlier words, 'a whole year and she still has trouble getting out of bed!' Greg mentally sighed. He felt for this man; in the space of one day he'd lost his daughter and his wife—his whole life had changed—but that didn't excuse what he was doing now. "I get that you're upset, Mr. Maclaney. You lost something that was very precious to you, and I can only imagine how that feels—"

"You _can't_ even imagine how that feels. Try picturing your hand being cut off, and then your heart ripped out. Then picture having to go through every day as if nothing had happened—"

"Boss," Spike called, "I think I've got something…"

Greg nodded for him to continue, keeping one ear listening to Mr. Maclaney and one ear listening to Spike.

"Isabelle Maclaney was the only victim who died on scene right? But I did some digging, trying to get myself more familiar with the case, and it turns out there was a second victim. I didn't find out about it until just now because she didn't die until days later, in the hospital. Her name was Elizabeth Harrison. She was 6 years old and one of Isabelle Maclaney's classmates… Boss, when he started out he called himself Izzy_s_. Plural. We assumed that's just the nickname he used for his daughter, but now he's just saying Izzy when he refers to her, so what if he's talking about both girls? What if he's doing this for both of them? I've started to look into Elizabeth Harrison's family, and it turns out her dad is dead and her mom was in the military. I'm waiting on her file now. I've already tried to reach her but she's not answering her house phone and she didn't show up for work today."

"That's good work, Spike." Greg whispered. "Keep at it. Now Mr. Maclaney," he interrupted the raging man, "I know I don't know what you're going through, or have gone through, and I honestly hope I never have to, but is it really worth all of this? Terrorizing nine innocent people and throwing your life away? Would Izzy want that? You're probably feeling very lonely up there because no one understan—"

"I am _not_ alone! I'll prove it to you!"

The line went dead.

Spike was just clicking to open the file on Mrs. Harrison's that had just arrived when Jules broke in frantically, "Boss! He's escalated! He's moving towards the hostages and he's pulling one out of the bunch and pinning her against the wall! I do not have a shot, I repeat, no joy!"

Greg swore. "All right, Ed, Sam it's a go! We've lost contact and he's threatening the hostages! He's escalated to a red and I don't think he's coming back from this!"

"Copy that." Sam replied. "Ed, you ready?"

"Copy, Sam. On my count of three we'll each detonate…"

The file opened before Spike's eyes. Something didn't feel right to him, his gut started churning and the words the subject had kept repeating were circling in his head: 'not alone.'

"One."

He scanned furiously, looking for her military occupation.

"Two."

He froze as his eyes rested on two words: expert sniper.

"Three."

"WAIT!" He screamed desperately.


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N. **Yay! I actually am able to post another chapter in the same day! Some questions should be answered in this chapter, and we finally get to know what happened to Sam.

As always, I do not own Flashpoint, I have merely borrowed the characters for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Ed heard Spike's desperate yell, just as he threw the flash bangs into the now accessible room. Knowing he was past stopping, he had no choice but to plough forward. Swinging into the room he landed on his feet with a thud, immediately scanning for the subject. "SRU, drop the gun and get down on the ground!" He yelled, spotting the man crouched on the floor covering his ears but still retaining his grip on the gun.

The man looked up and looked to Ed's right, before looking back at Ed and screaming in fury. "NO! YOU WERE BOTH SUPPOSED TO COME IN THE EAST WINDOW!"

Ed frowned in confusion, advancing on the man and continuing to order him to drop his weapon. Though he could see that the man was obviously seriously distraught, the man made no move to fire his weapon at Ed, he was just sobbing and screaming. When Ed finally reached him, he wrenched the gun from the man's fingers and pushed him to the ground. "Sam I need your cuffs!" He yelled as the man struggled beneath him. When the cuffs were not forthcoming, Ed yelled again, "Sam! I need those cuffs now!"

A quiet voice crackled through the coms, stopping his heart cold. "Ed…" There was a pause that lasted what felt a lifetime. "Ed, Sam can't give you his cuffs." Greg finished voice cracking.

Ed's stomach dropped to his feet. Silence reigned in his ears, though they'd long recovered from the abuse they'd taken during the blast. The hostages were screaming, he could see their mouths moving, but no sound reached him. As if moving through molasses, he reached for his own set of cuffs, sacrificing his grip on his gun in order to do so. Subject secured, he pushed off of the floor and turned to face the gaping windows. His eyes were drawn to the one where Sam was supposed to have entered through, and his worst fears were confirmed when he saw that there was no one there.

Sound slammed back into his ears all at once: everyone in the room was screaming, his teammates were talking rapid fire over the coms, and the wind was howling. "Everybody calm down!" He yelled to the panicking people in the room, not helping matters at all, but too emotionally and physically drained to recognize that. "Subject secure, hostages safe. Greg! What the hell happened?"

"Ed! We have an active shooter on the scene that we believe to be the mother of the other victim from last year, Elizabeth Harrison! Long range and armor piercing. Shots came from the east but we have no idea exactly where. Everyone has taken cover; it is believed that we, as members of the SRU, are her sole targets but we can't be sure!"

"Where's Sam?!" Ed yelled, moving towards the window.

"Ed you have to stay away from the window!" Greg ordered desperately, knowing his Team Leader well enough to know exactly what the man was doing.

"What! I said where the hell is Sam?" He was almost to the opening now.

"Ed Lane, stop now! That is an order!"

He froze three feet away from the edge.

"Greg," he said quietly, "please tell me what's going on."

He heard a long, shaky sigh echo from the other end. "Wordy is on his way down to your room to clear out the hostages and Mr. Maclaney. We already had uniforms headed there, so they will be there shortly to help Wordy. Spike too. You need to get the doorway cleared so that they can enter. You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_, under any circumstances go closer to the window until I say. A sniper is set up somewhere and apparently has a clear line of sight to the east window of that room. She fired just as you and Sam were entering… Sam was hit."

"Excuse me? Sam was hit? Well where is he?"

"… Hanging at the end of his twenty foot safety line. He's not moving and we can't make contact with him."

Ed closed his eyes, picturing what had just been described to him. It was every officer's worst nightmare to have a teammate in trouble. Add to that the fact that they could do nothing to help Sam at this precise moment, and that he'd been merely five feet away from Ed when it had happened, and it was even worse. He opened his eyes and forced himself to turn away from the window, vowing to do everything he could to save Sam just as soon as he'd cleared the doorway. Maclaney was huddled on the floor, crying and muttering incoherently, and the former hostages were all in a state of shock just staring at him.

Before moving farther into the room, he unclipped his safety line, shuddering at the thought that Sam's own safety line was the only thing keeping him from a four hundred foot drop.

"Okay listen up," Ed called commandingly, capturing everyone's attention. "We need to move those tables and shelves away from the door so that you guys can get out of here. Is anyone injured?" When all he saw were head shakes, he felt a small weight come off of his shoulders. "All right, work in teams and clear the door. Let's move!"

As the people began to shake off their stupor and go to work, he turned his attention to the man still crying on the floor. He reached down and pulled the man upright gently (though he really wanted to throw the man out the window) and snapped his fingers in front of the man's face. "Hey." He spoke quietly, but there was an edge to it. "Hey!" He shook the man until the man lifted his gaze to meet Ed's. "What's the play here? Gun down a great man who's just trying to help people? Is that what you call retribution?" The man remained silent. His tears had stopped. "Why? Where's your partner? You were quite insistent that you aren't alone, so where is she?" It was a struggle to keep from shouting, but he managed.

The man took in a deep, shuddering breath, before replying. "You were both supposed to come in the east window. There were supposed to be two of you: two a year ago, two today… an eye for an eye." He grinned, and Ed's eyes narrowed in anger. "She planned it all: studied how you operate, picked the room, picked the time and day, everything. She changed my life!"

By this time the door had been cleared and the hostages were being led out by uniforms. Wordy arrived as well, and was quietly reassuring everyone while keeping an eye on the two people still standing in the middle of the room.

Ed grasped the front of Maclaney's shirt in both hands. "Now you listen here, unless you want your life changed permanently, in ways you can't even imagine, I suggest you start answering my questions." When the man's jaw clenched and it looked like he wasn't going to say anything, Ed lost his temper. "The Officer you just shot? His name is Sam Braddock! He puts his life on the line, to save people like your daughter, every single day! And he is damn good at it! I can't say that if he had been here a year ago that things would have been different, but I _can_ say that if he was, he would have done every single thing in his power to try and make her come home safe!"

A flicker of remorse showed in the man's eyes, before he muttered stubbornly, "I didn't shoot him."

"Not technically, no, but you think I see it that way? As far as I'm concerned, you're the one that pulled the trigger just by being here and putting him in your partner's sights!" Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing more quietly. "Please," he pleaded, looking right into the other man's eyes, "he saves people every day, and right now, he's the one that needs help." His throat threatened to close but he swallowed hard and pressed forward. "Please. I need to take him home."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, before the other man dropped his eyes and murmured, "She's in the Jackson Corporation building. It's the tall, gray one. Thirty seventh floor. I'm not sure which room."

"Boss did you get that?"

"Copy that, Ed. I'm dispatching officers to that building now."

Spike entered the room just then, his face a mask of worry and guilt. Recalling his desperate cry of 'Wait!' right before they'd breached the room, Ed put two and two together and, after handing Maclaney off to a uniform, reached out and squeezed the distraught bomb expert's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Spike."

The Italian wouldn't meet Ed's gaze. "I should have been faster. If I'd gotten her file sooner, I could've warned you and Sam and you wouldn't have even been out there."

"Spike, look at me." He waited until the other man's eyes lifted. "It's not your fault. You did your job, and now we have more work to do. Okay?"

Although not entirely convinced, he nodded and breathed deeply, pulling himself together.

"Greg?" The Team Leader called.

"Yeah Eddie?"

"I'm going to take a look."

"No Ed! Didn't you hear me? She has a line of fire straight to that window! Wait until the officers locate and disarm her! If you get too close she could hit you too! I am _not_ going to lose two officers today!"

Ed snapped. "You're not going to lose ANY officers today! Period! End of story! I am going to go and check on Sam. There's a slight lip that I think will cover me, at least enough for me to be able to see him. We're not discussing this Greg." Ed said with finality, already moving to the edge. He lay down on his stomach and crawled the rest of the way. Behind him, he could hear The police clear out the rest of the hostages and the now quiet subject, leaving just himself, Spike, and Wordy in the room.

Staying close to the wall, Ed peered over the edge. He could see the black line running down the length of the building, straight through the former window in his room, and ending at the limp form of Sam Braddock, twenty feet below. Swallowing, Ed tried to assess his friend's condition. His head was hanging limply forward on his chest, arms completely relaxed at his sides, his body slowly banging against the side of the building.

"Boss, Sam does not look good, and the longer we leave him hanging there, the worse he's going to get. I don't think we can wait until the shooter's contained."

"I know Ed, but we can't let anyone else out there with a sniper still active, and if you start pulling him up, she may realize he's still alive and start shooting." Though they had no confirmation that he was indeed still alive, there was no other option in their mind.

"What if…" Ed thought quickly, trying to think of a way, anyway, that they could get Sam to safety. "What if I rappel down to his level from the west window here, so that the concrete protrusion is blocking me from her view… and then I can reach around and grab him and pull him behind it as well?"

There was silence on the line until Jules piped up hesitantly. "You'd be exposed when you reached around, Ed. She's waiting for us to attempt a rescue and expose ourselves, so her eye is probably trained right on the window and Sam. Given her accuracy the first time at such a distance, I… I don't think she'd miss."

"I don't care dammit! This is Sam we're talking about. He's only twenty feet from me and bleeding out and you're telling me I can't do a damn thing about it?"

"Wait!" Spike cried out, wincing as he recalled the last time he'd uttered those words. "What if we ran with Ed's plan, but a second before Ed goes for Sam, we make a decoy movement up at this level? Make it look like we're about to move from here? She'll see the movement and train her scope here and Ed would have probably five seconds to get Sam clear."

There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to assess the possible ramifications of this plan, before Greg gave the go ahead. "All right guys, do it. Go carefully, and go quickly."

"Copy that." He scooted back from the edge and moved to the other window. His rappel line was already there and he made quick work of reattaching it. Glancing back at Spike and Wordy, he gave final instructions. "Sam is swinging from left to right a bit, so Spike, I need you to get in the position I just vacated and keep your eye on him. When he's just started to swing towards me, you let me know and that's when we make our move. Wordy, use your jacket for the distraction."

"Copy that," Spike murmured, and Wordy echoed.

All three men moved into position, holding eye contact for one brief moment before Ed spoke. "Let's bring him home."

* * *

**A.N. 2:**In case some of you were confused, Sam (and Ed) detached himself from the main line so that he could move freely into the room without restriction, but left the twenty foot safety line attached, loose. Therefore, theoretically, he could've moved into the room twenty feet... or fall twenty feet before it caught him. I have no idea if this is actual protocol, but this is fanfiction so in my world, it is.


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N. **First of all, thank you everyone for your support and kind words! I am thrilled that people are enjoying this story. This is a shorter chapter, and you have my apologies for that, but I hope it keeps you entertained.

As always, I do not own Flashpoint and am just borrowing the characters for entertainment purpose only.

* * *

The first thing he felt was the wind. It was ice on his skin. He'd been cold before, but now he felt like he'd never be warm again. He knew his lips were blue, and not just from the chill; he was having difficulty breathing. Sam was pretty sure at least one of the bullets had hit a lung, though he didn't think it'd punctured… yet. He could feel something wet sliding down his side and knew he needed to stop the bleeding, but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get his arms to move an inch. He was having a hard enough time getting his eyes to open. The pain he felt was intense. It radiated through his entire body, though it focused on his chest. He'd been shot before, back when he was in the army, but not like this… not with two bullets landing in close quarters. Plus, his body had taken a serious whiplash beating when he'd reached the end of his tether, and then subsequently, hit the building… hard.

He bit his lip, trying to slow his heartbeat and bring his breathing under control in order to slow the flow of blood. It felt like a fruitless task, but he couldn't just hang there. The wind blew him against the building, none too gently, and it took everything he had not to scream in pain and undo all of the work he was putting into slowing his heartbeat. He could feel a rib shift at each contact, like a knife in his side, and he dearly hoped that it would not move and puncture a lung. As he felt his breathing and heartbeat come under control, he let himself hang for a moment, gathering his strength. He had no idea if his coms were still active or even still attached to him, though even if they were, they would be useless; at the moment, talking was out of the question. Fatigue was pulling at him. He could hear the wind howling, mocking his struggle to stay awake, but he could hear nothing else. He hissed as he bumped against the side of the building, his broken ribs protesting.

He had no idea what had happened, but he sincerely hoped that Ed was okay and that he'd been able to secure the subject and free the hostages. For a moment, he panicked, worrying that Ed, too, had been hit and was bleeding out just a few feet away behind the stupid concrete wall, until he realized the angle at which the bullets had hit him; there was no way a sniper would have a shot on him, as well as Ed, from that position. Relief coursed through him, though it was short lived because he knew Ed was therefore taking on an armed man solo. He felt his breath catch at the thought of harm coming to his teammate because he'd failed to watch Ed's back, and his heartbeat began to speed up, undoing all of his hard work. Pushing the unwelcome thoughts from his mind, he, again, focused on slowing his heartbeat, getting ready to attempt the task of opening his eyes.

Meanwhile, though his team had no idea he was conscious (or even alive, for that matter), they'd already begun their rescue operation. Spike was flat on the floor, just close enough to the edge that he could see Sam swinging, and Wordy had his jacket off, ready to move it out the window.

Ed began to rappel down the side of the building, not letting his brain think about what he'd find if he was too late. When he reached where he thought Sam was, he asked Jules to confirm that he was at the right height.

"That's a yes, Ed." She stated, trying to breathe normally though she had a clear view of Sam's limp body. Pushing that image from her mind, she turned her focus towards the building they suspected the sniper was in, and scanned, hoping to spot the woman.

Hearing the confirmation from Jules, Ed let out a breath. "Okay, Spike. It's on your mark. You're not gonna be able to count this off, so when you say 'now,' I'm waiting one second for Wordy to move, and then I'm going. Copy?"

"Copy that Ed." Spike's voice was steady, though internally he was anything but calm.

"I'm going to see if I can get through to Sam, so just wait a minute."

"Copy."

Taking a deep breath and sending up a silent prayer, Ed yelled towards the other side of the concrete. "Sam! Hey Samo! You with me?" Silence pervaded. Heart sinking, he tried again. "Sam, if you can hear me, don't make any sudden movements but try to wiggle a finger or something!"

"There!" Came Spike's excited voice. "I definitely saw his right fist clench slightly!"

Relief coursed through Ed. At least they knew he was still alive. "Okay Sam, listen up." He spoke quickly, knowing precious time was wasting. "There is still a sniper to the east, so don't you move a muscle! We believe she currently thinks you're dead, and she's waiting for us to come out in the open and get you! Wordy is going to provide a distraction above us and draw her fire, and I'm going to reach around this wonderful, artistic concrete, and pull you to my side out of her line of fire. Okay?"

"His fist clenched again!" Spike confirmed.

"Okay. Spike is going to give me the signal, and then I'm gonna move and I'm going to be moving fast, just fair warning!" He lowered his voice so that only the people with coms could hear him. "Okay, Spike. On your mark." He waited for an eternity, his mind playing out all sorts of scenarios of what could happen next. If he was honest with himself, he preferred that to the other thoughts that were trying to crowd into his head. Thoughts of Sam bleeding out right beside him, of Sam smiling and laughing at one of his bad jokes, thoughts of never hearing that laugh again. As he waited for Spike's signal, he tried his hardest to block out those dark thoughts. Sam was a friend and a teammate, and while Ed hadn't liked him at the start, Sam had wormed his way into the Team Leader's heart and carved out a niche that Ed knew would never be filled if Sam didn't pull through.

"NOW!" Spike yelled, and Ed moved.


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N. **As one of the reviewers pointed out, I have been pretty cruel in leaving you guys with cliff hangers at the end of each chapter. I find this rather amusing because I, personally, dislike to read stories that are constantly ending in cliff hangers... and yet I've written one that's just like that! Well, this one is still cliff hangerish, but after this chapter I think it settles down.

Thank you all for sticking with this story!

As always, I do not own Flashpoint and am only borrowing the characters.

* * *

Two shots, in rapid succession, rang out, perforating Wordy's jacket. Ed lunged around the concrete corner, grabbing Sam's arm as he swung into reach and jerking him around the side. He winced as Sam hit the building, but he was more concerned with getting him out of the line of fire. Seconds later, the concrete corner exploded as a bullet tried to hit the already injured SRU officer, but Ed's plan had worked and they were both already safely tucked behind the corner.

"Team status!" Greg yelled through the coms.

"No harm." Spike replied.

"No harm, except to my jacket." Wordy informed ruefully, though relieved that their ruse had worked.

"No harm to me," Ed replied quickly, "I can't say no harm about Sam, but he hasn't been hit a second time. Wordy, Spike! Let's see about pulling us up!"

Just at that moment, the concrete protecting him and Sam exploded as another bullet was fired at them. He turned quickly, so that his back was to the corner, shielding Sam as best he could. Through the coms, he learned that the sniper was also firing at the open window above and to the right, probably hoping to hit one of the SRU by accident. His team was talking rapid fire: Wordy and Spike had been forced to move back from the edge and were unable to get to Ed and Sam without risking being hit, and the uniforms were on the correct floor of the Jackson Corporation building, but were having trouble locating the woman; Jules was trying to help by looking from her Sierra perch, and thought she may have found the correct room.

"Ed!" Spike called over the noise of the mini explosions taking place each time a bullet hit. "Just give them a minute to find her! The moment they've secured her we will be pulling you up okay?"

"We don't have a minute!" Ed bellowed, taking in Sam's pale face, blue lips, and the fact that though he'd hissed when he'd hit the building, he still hadn't opened his eyes. "Hey, Sam." Ed said quietly, tapping the other man on the cheek and transferring his harness from his safety line to Ed's main line. "Hey Sam, you with me?"

One eye cracked a fraction, slowly followed by the other, until they were both open slightly.

"Hey, there are those beautiful blues!" Ed smiled, never so happy to see another man's eyes in his entire life. "You're gonna be okay, Sam, you got that?" He assured, pulling the other man closer, and putting pressure, as best he could, on the still bleeding wounds.

"… I… got it." Sam managed, just loud enough for Ed to hear.

A surge of happiness spread through Ed as he heard his injured teammate speak, but he quickly kept it in check, reminding himself that Sam wasn't out of the woods yet. "That's right Samo. You're Samtastic and a little thing like being shot is not going to bring you down. Man, you gave me one hell of a scare, I'll tell you what. I've never felt like I did when I turned around and you weren't there…" He shuddered, recalling the disbelief and horror that had coursed through him. "Don't ever do that to me again, okay? As I said earlier, I'm not as young as I used to be and I don't think my heart could take it!" He joked, trying to keep the conversation light. He was watching Sam carefully, noticing his struggle to breathe and the tension that radiated throughout his body.

"You could… take it," Sam mumbled, "You're Ed. You can… do… anything." He said with finality, as if that explained everything.

Ed's heart warmed at the younger man's solid trust and praise, before his thoughts blackened and turned to his inability to do something. "Anything except rescue my teammate when he needs it the most."

"None sense," Sam closed his eyes for a moment, before snapping them back open, "I would be Swiss Cheese without you." His gaze slid pointedly towards the bullets still hitting the other side of the concrete, sporadically.

Ed was about to reply when all of a sudden, the impacts stopped. He paused for a moment, listening to the coms, but he heard nothing. "Spike? Boss? What's the status? Is the shooter in custody?"

There was a moment of silence before Greg's voice came through the coms. "That's an affirmative, Ed. Alive and well, in custody."

"Which is more than she deserves." Ed muttered vehemently under his breath, causing Sam to raise an eyebrow before his eyelids slid shut again. "Whoa their Samo," he frantically tapped the blond man's face, none too lightly, "No going to sleep on me now!"

"M'not sleeping." He retorted, though with only a tenth of his usual spirit.

"Well then open those gorgeous eyes of yours and keep looking into my, equally gorgeous eyes."

Sam snorted—momentarily forgetting about his broken ribs—and regretted it immediately. He felt bone grate against bone, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming, but it had the desired effect of making his open quickly. "I've… ne'er… heard anyone… call your eyes… gorgeous!" He gasped for air.

"Well you've just never been around when the topic's come up." Ed said smugly, before he turned his attention to his right and grinned. "I think you're going to have to eat your words about this 'terrible artistic concrete protrusion,' Sam, because it pretty much saved your life."

The ghost of a smile appeared at the corners of Sam's mouth, and his eyes started to slide shut just as they both began to rise, pulled towards the window by Wordy and Spike.

"Hey, no Sam! You gotta stay with me! What? No come back about how you weren't wrong and that this lump of concrete is actually terrible? Or are you just gonna admit that you, the great Sam Braddock, were wrong for once?" Ed teased, trying to antagonize the ex-soldier in order to keep him awake.

He was rewarded by a soft, "Wasn't… wrong. 'Is—not at all… artistic. Still havin'… words." With that, the last of Sam's energy was used up and his head fell limply onto Ed's shoulder.

"Sam! We need EMTs here now!" He yelled frantically, just as they reached the window and Spike reached down to pull Sam in.

"They're already on their way Ed. They're in the elevator." Greg informed him calmly.

As Ed, too, was pulled into the room, he immediately moved to put pressure on Sam's still bleeding wounds, leaning on them with all of his might. Wordy quickly handed the Team Leader his hole filled jacket to try and help stop the precious liquid from leaving Sam's body.

"Custody's too good for her." Ed growled, seeing that Wordy's jacket already beginning to become soaked in red. Spike gave his team leader a questioning glance, so Ed elaborated. "Harrison. She should see how _she'_d like to get thrown out of a window."

"Ed…" Greg started to chastise, but was interrupted by the arrival of the EMTs.

"I've got this, now, sir." One of the EMTs told Ed, gently moving him out of the way and taking over putting pressure on the wounds. "What can you tell us?"

"Uh," Ed tried to collect himself. "Two gunshot wounds to the chest. He was conscious a minute ago but not anymore. Pretty sure I felt a couple broken ribs, and he was hanging outside in the wind and cold for about ten minutes."

"Understood." The EMT nodded before ordering his partner to start an IV, and hand him pressure bandages immediately. "We need to take his vest off," he said, meeting Ed's gaze. "While it's probably been helping to keep the blood loss down, we'll be more effective if we can put the bandages directly on his chest."

Ed nodded, moving to undo the Velcro.

"Just open it—we'll worry about getting it off of him later—in three, two, one!"

Acting quickly, the EMT quickly pressed down on the now exposed wounds as Ed opened the vest.

"All right, we need to move him onto the backboard and get him out of here now! You two," he motioned towards Spike and Wordy who'd been standing on the sidelines, unable to do anything but watch, "Lift his torso. You," he motioned to Ed, "Move his legs. Ready? Three, two, one!"

In one fluid movement Sam was swiftly placed on the backboard where he was quickly strapped on.

"Sir," the head EMT addressed Ed again, "Can you lift one end while my partner lifts the other? I need to keep this pressure on his gunshot wounds."

Ed nodded numbly, quickly moving to Sam's head and hoisting the backboard with the other EMT. They moved as swiftly as they could towards the elevator (thank God they were working again, Ed thought) and began to descend to the first floor. When the doors opened, they were greeted by another team of paramedics who had a rolling gurney that they swiftly transferred Sam onto before whisking him away to a waiting ambulance. Ed stood in shock for a moment, numb to the fact that everything was now out of his hands, before he started to move rapidly towards the ambulance. When he got within ten feet, he heard a raised shout from inside, "Blood pressure's dropping! We gotta go now!" before the door slammed shut and the ambulance squealed onto the road and raced away.


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.**And on into the hospital chapters... these (for some unknown reason), are a little harder for me to write so, while I will try to keep the updates daily, I may have to switch to every other day or so. I hope not though!

As always, I do not own Flashpoint and have borrowed the characters only for entertainment.

* * *

Silence reigned. Five people occupied the sterile, white, waiting room, filling it and making it feel small, but if one closed their eyes, they wouldn't even know anybody was there. One knee bounced up and down, though the attached foot never left the floor. Two hands clasped and unclasped. And all five pairs of eyes were trained on the doorway, willing a doctor to walk through, smiling, saying everything was going to be fine.

The team had been waiting for four hours without a word except: "They lost him once in the ambulance but got him back, and now he's in surgery."

Despite multiple friendly (and when that failed, hostile) attempts to cajole more information from the nurses, they had nothing.

Finally, Wordy rose. "I'm going to make a coffee run, would anyone like something?"

Bleak stares met his before Greg spoke up. "That's a good idea, Wordy. What do you say, team? How about we put some fuel in our tanks after the day we've been having?"

There were murmurs of consent and appreciation, so Wordy left with Jules to place the orders.

Spike rose to wander the halls and try to work off some of his nervous energy, leaving just Greg and Ed in the waiting room. Greg sighed and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his face with his hands.

"It's not your fault."

His eyes snapped open and he met his Team Leader's gaze. "What was that?"

"I know what you're thinking, and I'm telling you not to think it; none of this was your fault. It was a good call with the information we had. None of us knew the whole picture—Maclaney and Harrison made sure of that. They did a damn good job of manipulating and anticipating us… and Sam's going to be fine." Ed stated confidently, hoping his voice wouldn't betray his inner feelings of worry.

"Aw Ed." Greg leaned forward. "How do you know that? You saw him; two armor piercing rounds in close quarters, exposed to the cold for a short—but long enough—period of time, whiplash, and a lot of blood loss… I'll be the first to say that Sam constantly surprises me with his strength and determination… he's probably one of the strongest people I know, but I just don't know if he can come back from this."

Ed closed his eyes, and for a moment, just a single, short moment, let all of the worries Greg brought to light, flood him. He'd seen, first hand, the damage the bullets had done to his teammate, felt the shift of bones beneath his fingers as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding, watched as Sam struggled to breathe, and he knew that what Greg feared could become a reality.

He might never see Sam comfort a frightened child again—see the tough soldier soften and wrap his arms around the kid and say everything would be okay. He might never see the younger man's amazing marksmanship that—though he'd never admit it to anyone—surpassed his own. Ed knew the kid had not had an easy life, between growing up with the General, having his sister's life wrenched from his hand, and then being told that he was the one responsible for his best friend's death… he'd gone through hell, and yet he still managed to be a confident steady presence for his team. Ed marveled at this fact, and screamed inside as he contemplated the fact that this amazing individual could be gone, forever. There'd be nothing left but a gaping hole where he used to watch his teammates' backs.

Ed's eyes snapped open and he quickly turned his gaze to his boss. "Greg," he called softly, "Sam's going to pull through. You said it yourself: he's one of the strongest people you know, and he's always surprising you. He's going to pull through this."

Greg met his gaze, and for a long moment, neither of them said another word until Greg blew out a breath and murmured, "I hope you're right, Eddie. I hope you're right."

Hours passed, the rest of the team returned, and Natalie arrived. Sam's parents had been called, but the General only sent his regrets that he couldn't make it. Ed winced as he recalled the words that'd left his mouth after _that_ call. He'd also called Sophie, telling her he wouldn't be home for dinner, and, in response to that, she'd brought dinner to them. Though none of them were particularly interested in eating, no one wanted to risk Greg or Ed's wrath if they refused.

Footsteps were heard approaching from a hall, and a doctor came striding up to the nurse's station and quietly conferred with the nurse on duty. Six pairs of eyes were glued to his back, willing him to turn around, walk over, and smile. Instead, he turned, paused a moment, then walked towards them with a friendly face that gave nothing away. He met Ed's eyes before his gaze skimmed across the rest of the team, unsure of who he should approach. "Family of Constable Braddock?"

The entire team, plus Natalie, rose and moved towards him. He seemed a bit taken aback by the large group of imposing people in front of him—after all, they were still in their tactical gear—but he gathered himself and continued, referencing the clipboard in his hands. "First of all, I want you to know that he is out of surgery and in the ICU."

The entire group let out a collective sigh of relief when they heard he was still alive.

"We lost him several times while operating, which is why you've had to wait so long. He's mostly stable right now, but, I will be honest with you, that could change at any time."

The relief they'd all felt a moment ago was immediately replaced with worry. The doctor raised his hands. "I don't mean to alarm any of you, but I feel that full disclosure is what will be best right now. He lost a great amount of blood, and we've given him many transfusions to counteract that. Both of the bullets lodged very close to his spine; one bruised his right lung, and the other broke two ribs on his right side. Because both of these are causing stress on his lungs, we've intubated him and placed him on a respirator. We were worried that his spinal cord had been damaged, particularly since we have no record of him moving and have been unable to revive him, but upon further inspection, we _believe_ that's not the case. However, just to be on the safe side, he is currently in a medically induced coma to allow his body to heal."

The doctor paused a moment to let all of this sink in.

Ed closed his eyes. He wasn't in shock… No he wasn't. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't really surprised by the news they were being given. He'd seen how bad Sam was, seen how hard it was for the ex-soldier to even open his eyes. A memory flitted into his mind and he seized on it before meeting the doctor's gaze. "He moved his hand."

Having been about to continue, the doctor paused in confusion. "Pardon me?"

Ed repeated himself, a little more strongly. "He moved his hand. You said you were worried about his spinal cord; well, he moved his hand. I didn't see him move a leg, but a hand is something right?"

The doctor remained silent a moment, before a _very_ small smile spread across his face. "That is definitely good news, though we will not know anything for certain until he wakes up.

Now, I know you are all eager to see him. Please, only two at a time, and I can only let you visit him for a short while."

"Thank you doctor." Ed reached out to shake the man's hand, clasping it in a firm grip, trying to convey just how thankful he was.

The doctor nodded before hurrying on to his many other patients.

Everyone agreed that Jules and Natalie would go first, then Spike and Wordy, and last, Greg and Ed.

It was ten minutes before Jules and Natalie returned, and when they did rejoin the team in the waiting room, Greg ordered both of them home. They didn't leave willingly, but after much protest, Greg finally managed to convince them to leave just for the night. They promised to return in the morning. Wordy and Spike shortly followed, also with promises to return in the morning and, at last, it was just the Team Leader and Sergeant left. They glanced at each other before making the trek up to ICU, steeling themselves for what was to come.


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N. **Thank you all so, so much for your positive feedback about the last chapter. I'm glad it didn't bog down too much, but please let me know if these next chapters do! Again, I focus mainly on Ed, but there will be a bunch of Spike in just a few chapters. I'm also not a medical expert, anything I know, I have learned from the internet and other fanfics. Please forgive me any mistakes.

And of course, I don't own Flashpoint. Sadly.

* * *

Ed entered the room, with Greg at his side, and stopped. He'd known what to expect—the doctor had warned him—but even so, it hurt to see his teammate so pale, fighting for his life. Sam was lying in a bed, the sheets pulled up to his mid torso, surrounded by machines of all sorts. An IV attached to his hand was giving him much needed fluids, and (even worse, in Ed's view), there was a tube down his throat because they weren't sure he could breathe on his own.

Greg had already moved into the room and was murmuring something to Sam, but Ed just stood there, frozen. He could not reconcile this silent, motionless person with the man he knew. His gaze fell on the bandages wrapped tightly around Sam's chest. He could see dark bruises peeking out from beneath them, around the ex-soldier's shoulders, where the harness had saved his life. Those were less hard for Ed to handle, after all, he preferred bruises to the alternative if Sam hadn't been wearing his safety line.

He saw Greg glance back towards him, prompting him to move his feet and walk over to his teammate. "Hey Samo," he called softly, unsure of what exactly to say. He looked to Greg for guidance, something he'd rarely done, and was met with a calm, reassuring stare. He was struck by their role reversal—just hours before, it was Greg panicking and Ed giving the reassurance. He closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply. He felt Greg clasp his shoulder, squeeze gently, then move away. By the time Ed opened his eyes, the door to the room was swinging closed behind Greg's receding figure.

He turned his focus back to Sam and blew out a breath. "Hey Samo," he spoke again, his voice a little stronger this time. "We both know you're getting out of that bed on your own two feet. You hear me? And we both know that you're gonna be back to work and being a pain in the ass in no time; you've got to, because there ain't no way in hell that I'm dealing with Spike and his antics all by myself… he's probably still planning revenge because of my comment about him being as harmless as a fly; you've got to help me escape whatever he has planned." He broke off, feeling the humor fall flat in the still, hospital air. A sigh escaped his lips. "Anyway Sam, you just rest now, you've earned it." He headed towards the door, but turned right before he exited and added, "The hostages are all safe. It was a good idea to go through the windows, I'm just sorry that meant you got hurt… it should be me in that bed, I should've been the one to take the east window… just get better Sam."

The following days were a blur of hospital, home, medical talk, and stoic faces from each member of the team. The briefing right after they'd gone home from the hospital the first day had been tortuous; everyone was either blaming themselves, or trying to stop people from blaming themselves. Spike was insistent that he should have gotten the woman's file sooner, Greg knew he should have been able to read Maclaney and figure out what was going on, and Jules thought she should have located the sniper more quickly. Wordy kept trying to tell everyone that it wasn't their fault—things happen and it was out of their hands—but no one had been listening. Ed kept his guilt to himself, listening to his teammates tear themselves down before he'd finally had enough. He'd stepped in and yelled at them—he wasn't proud of that part, though in hindsight it had worked—that this was not helping themselves, nor Sam, and they all just needed to realize there was nothing they could have done and move on. They'd disbanded shortly after. He knew he was a hypocrite, because while he urged them to let go of it, by no means was _he_ prepared to let go. Given the circumstances, Greg managed to get them excused from duty for the first few days, but after the fifth one with little change in Sam's condition, they all had to resume work.

Greg had eventually been able to overcome his guilt, recognizing that he'd done his best and Maclaney and Harrison had just been too well prepared. It helped that he recognized guilt was not helping anything, and in fact, it just made everyone else mad. He kept working on helping Jules do the same, and he was making progress, but it was a slow process.

Spike, on the other hand, refused to be persuaded. Ed tried many times to corral him in a corner and make him hash it out, but Spike was as slippery as a fish and somehow kept escaping. Ed resigned himself to waiting, knowing that _eventually_ the Italian would fail to sneak away from him. In the meantime, Ed spent all of the free time he could at the hospital. The staff had come to know him, and sometimes even let him stay after official visiting hours. Sam had been moved to a private room, and today, they were going to remove the respirator, so Ed had asked them to wait until he was able to be there in the evening, after shift.

The day had been long and stressful; they'd been called out three times, with a fourth false alarm. Ed arrived just in time and slipped into the room, to the side and out of the way of the nurses and doctors who were taking final stats.

The doctor who had given the team the first update (Ed later learned his name was Dr. Nile), met Ed's stare and nodded to him. "Everything looks good and we're just about ready. We've drastically reduced the drugs we've been giving him, hoping that he will wake up, but he hasn't shown any signs yet. If he can breathe on his own, however, that will be a big step towards healing."

Ed hummed his understanding and nervously watched as they began to remove the tube. He'd gotten used to the unsettling sound of the respirator (or, as used to it as he ever would), but he was glad that it was—hopefully—no longer required. Sam, for his part, looked only slightly better than when he'd first been admitted: he was still incredibly pale, and the bruises and bandages both stood out considerably.

Everyone took a step back as the tube was replaced with a nasal cannula. A collective breath was held as the machine reading Sam's oxygen levels beeped: he wasn't breathing.

"Come on Sam," Ed murmured, worry creeping into his voice, "Breathe."

Ten seconds passed, twelve… then Sam's chest moved as he took in a deep, shuddering breath. A huge sigh went around the room and people began filtering out, job accomplished, until it was just the two SRU Officers left. Ed let out a forceful breath before pulling a chair over to Sam's bedside and sitting down. He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in the chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

"Everyone's been blaming themselves for what happened… I think Greg and Jules are starting to accept the fact that there's nothing they could have done, but Spike won't let me near him; it's like he can smell my reassurances coming. I guess it'll be up to you to set him straight, which is just another reason why you need to wake up soon. Things aren't the same without you, but you never heard me say that." He stared intently at the blond man's face, searching for any sign that what he was saying was being heard, but he saw nothing. Resigning himself to one last tactic, and cringing internally at what he was about to say aloud, he steeled himself. "Okay Sam, you listen up because I'm only gonna say this once, and you can never, I repeat, _never_, tell anyone I said this… I will deny it to my grave. I admit that your marksmanship surpasses my own, by a long shot." He paused before bursting into laughter and shaking his head. "Absolutely no pun intended! That just sorta slipped out." He sobered before continuing. "Seriously, though, Sam… You've got skills." When he still got no response he sighed and started to close his eyes when he did a double take, staring at Sam's hand; he could have sworn it had just moved. He stared at it for a minute and was about to admit to himself that he'd just imagined it, when all of a sudden, it twitched.

"Sam?" He called, hardly daring to hope that the young man would respond. When there was no further movement, Ed hit the call button anyway and consulted with the nurse when she came in. She told him it was unlikely that Sam would start waking up so soon after being taken off the respirator; it was probably just a muscle spasm. Ed remained unconvinced, after all Sam had already proven that he was determined to surprise people, so he made a phone call to Sophie and told her he was staying at the hospital that night in the hope that Sam would indeed wake up, and he didn't want him to wake up alone. He made sure to call the team as well, informing them of the latest development and promising to call again if anything changed.

Arrangements made, he settled in for a long wait.


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N. **This chapter's a little short, but it's all I had time for today so it will have to do. I hope you enjoy!

I don't own Flashpoint. Sigh.

* * *

He had no concept of time. At first, all he knew and cared about was that the hostages were safe. It puzzled him, how he knew that, but for the moment he didn't care. He was warmer than he'd been the last time he was conscious, but he still could not really move. Part of him was amused at the sense of déjà vu, the rest of him mentally groaned at the inability to control his body—as an ex-soldier, being out of control and inactive were two things he absolutely despised.

He could feel a bed beneath him, he heard beeping and whirring to his right, and his mind felt a little lost in the familiar fog of pain killers. All of this, he realized, added up to a hospital, which meant he was still alive and, thankfully, no longer dangling at an uncomfortable height from the ground.

His hand twitched, and he frowned. He had definitely _not_ told his hand to move. It twitched again, shortly followed by a twitch of his foot, and his frown deepened. He mentally growled and cursed at the pain killers that were causing his body to mutiny, but the moment his back spasmed, he took back the curses. Pain ripped through his chest as his back arched and he gasped, desperate for air that wouldn't come. His hands fisted in the sheets, desperate to find some way of lessening the agony. His back jerked again and it took everything he still had to hold back his scream. His body was telling him to take deep breaths, but he knew that would not end well. Instead, he gasped, shallow, fast breaths that seemed useless in getting oxygen to his starving lungs.

Just when he was beginning to panic, a hand gripped his wrist. He relaxed his hold on the sheets, and the moment his fist was disentangled, the hand clasped his and held on tightly. He returned the solid grip with one of his own, clinging to the anchor that it provided. As his back muscles continued to contract, he focused on the hand that was his lifeline: it was calloused and scarred, much like his own. Although he could not yet open his eyes (he'd already tried and they were firmly glued shut), he tried to extend his senses to the person the hand belonged to. As he lay there, trying to ignore the pain, he started to understand that someone was speaking. Mumbling is what it sounded like at first, but gradually words and meaning started to drift into his mind.

"… Just relax Samo, you're gonna be okay. I know you're in a lot of pain right now but," he heard a laugh, "I have to say I'm pretty ecstatic. That sounds wrong, given the circumstances, but… your foot moved!" Again, he could hear quiet chuckling, and as he focused on that simple sound, he felt his muscles start to relax. The quiet chatter continued. "They told us they were concerned that your spine might have been damaged, and I thought, 'no way would Sam let that happen,' and sure enough, you proved me right and them wrong. I'd say thanks for making me right, but I have a feeling that you were just too stubborn to let the doctors be right." There was a pause and he heard the person shift before the talk turned from rambling chatter to a more intense murmur. "Hey Sam. I know you're awake—the death grip you have on my hand sort of gives it away—so how about this? Think you can open your eyes for me?" He considered it, but determined that no, his eyes were content to stay shut. The voice got a little firmer. "Okay, how about this: Sam, as your Team Leader, I am ordering you to open your eyes." Damn. No way was he going to disobey an order. Steeling himself for the daunting task, he took in a breath, then began to pry open his stubborn eyelids.

After the initial twitch of Sam's hand that had prompted Ed to call Sophie and the team several hours ago, there'd been no movement since. This was why, when Sam started to twitch again, Ed didn't pay much attention—not until his foot moved. At the shift of that one limb, Ed felt his heart both stop and soar. He didn't quite believe that he'd seen it—maybe his tired mind had imagined it—not until Sam's whole body tensed. In moments, Ed was standing and hitting the call button. He cursed the timing, because he knew just fifteen minutes ago a large group of critical patients had descended upon the hospital—victims of a drive by shooting he'd heard—and were currently taking up all of the staff. He hoped that someone would come soon, but knew that for now, he was on his own.

Sam's hands fisted in the sheets and he let out a gasp, before gritting his teeth together. Ed had no idea what to do, nor what was ailing his friend, so he did the only thing he could think of. His hand shot out and gripped Sam's wrist, and when the ex-soldier's fist relaxed enough for Ed to wrestle the sheets out of its death grip and replace them with his own hand, he was relieved by the strength Sam's grasp still held. He could see that Sam's back was spasming and knew that that could not be helping his broken ribs and gunshot wounds—evident by the fact that Sam was in a lot of pain. He decided to start talking at that point, hoping his voice would give Sam something to latch onto.

"Hey, hey, okay, you're in the hospital. Several days have gone by since the incident at Andrew Bank," he mentally hit himself for mentioning that, it wasn't like Sam needed to know that he'd lost a couple days of his life, "And uh, no need to worry about anything except for relaxing. Just relax Samo, you're gonna be okay. I know you're in a lot of pain right now," he grimaced when he thought about just how much pain the young man was in, before a happier thought entered his mind, "but," he couldn't help the burst of relieved laughter that escaped his mouth, "I have to say I'm pretty ecstatic. That sounds wrong, given the circumstances, but… your foot moved!" He chuckled more, grateful and awed at Sam's ability to defy reason. "They told us they were concerned that your spine might have been damaged, and I thought, 'no way would Sam let that happen,' and sure enough, you proved me right and them wrong. I'd say thanks for making me right, but I have a feeling that you were just too stubborn to let the doctors be right." He paused, searching the other man's face for some sign that this rambling was helping at all. He was pleased to see that the pain lines around Sam's face seemed to be disappearing slowly, and that his whole body had relaxed more.

Ed took a deep breath before continuing on in a more serious voice. "Hey Sam. I know you're awake—the death grip you have on my hand sort of gives it away—so how about this? Think you can open your eyes for me?" When no reaction was forthcoming, Ed muttered to himself about cheeky, stubborn blonds, then gave his voice a more commanding tone, like the one he used during a hot call. "Okay, how about this: Sam, as your Team Leader, I am ordering you to open your eyes."

He waited, holding his breath, until finally, Sam's eyes opened slowly.


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.**Hi guys, sorry for the delay! I've come down with a nasty cold which is not conducive to creative writing, so I've had to go slower. Despite that, I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter!

I don't own Flashpoint and have only borrowed the characters for entertainment.

* * *

Sam's eyes blinked slowly, and for a moment, Ed just stood there like an idiot, staring at the friend that at one time he'd thought might be lost to him. A huge grin split his face as he finally unfroze and leaned forward, placing himself directly in Sam's view. "Hey there buddy. Boy is it good to see you! You had us worried there for a while, but I guess we were worrying for nothing, huh?"

Sam's eyes slowly moved to meet Ed's gaze and held it. Ed's breath caught at the intensity of that stare—a moment ago it had been clouded and confused, now it was focused and sure—because he could tell that Sam was still Sam. This was not a shell of the man Ed had come to know and respect, this was the actual person, living and breathing in front of him. Until that moment, Ed hadn't even realized the fear he'd had that Sam would be different—somehow altered by his experience.

Sam's eyes slipped closed and Ed panicked. "Whoa, no Samo. No sleeping on the job! That's pretty unprofessional!" He reached his hand forward to tap the man's face (the hand not still in a death grip), but was stopped when Sam spoke.

"How many times… do I haf' t' tell you… m'not… sleeping." He muttered, voice rough from his painfully dry throat.

Ed's grin widened at his friend's cheeky reply. "Well excuse me, but as long as those eyes are closed, it's pretty hard to tell if you're awake or not. Though actually, no, scratch that—I _can_ tell you're awake because you're not snoring."

Sam's eyes opened to slits, pinning Ed with a disgruntled stare. "Liar."

"What's that? You calling your Team Leader a liar?" He demanded, glad for the banter that allowed him to pretend all was normal.

Sam nodded sagely, closing his eyes again. "Mhmm. Don't snore."

Ed was unable to respond to that, because just at that moment a nurse ran in. She took in the situation with an air of disbelief; no way should this patient be awake, but evidence to the contrary was right in front of her. She shook her head in wonder, turned to shout for more staff, then quickly moved to the spot beside Ed. With a cursory glance at the various machines that gave her information on the patient's status, she asked Ed, "How long ago did he wake up?"

"Just a few minutes ago." He told her, relieved that someone with medical expertise was there.

"Sir?" She asked, leaning closer to Sam. "Sir, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Cracking one eye open to put a face to the new voice, he corrected her. "Sam."

She frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Not 'sir.' Sir's m' father."

Her confusion cleared. "Ah, okay. So can you answer my questions Sam?" She almost reiterated them, but instead decided to see how good his short term recall was.

He sighed, closing his eyes again. "Considering… I was shot twice… and nearly fell to my death, I'd say pretty good." His voice got stronger as he continued. "I'm not in pain."

Ed opened his mouth to disagree, but Sam's eyes snapped open to glare at him. When Ed looked like he was going to ignore Sam's attempt at silencing him, the blond rolled his eyes and amended, "I'm _currently_ not in a _lot_ of pain. Though, when my muscles cramped, I was."

She nodded her understanding. "On a scale of one to ten?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Uh, four."

"Which really means six or seven." Ed translated for the nurse, knowing the injured officer would go for being stoic instead of honest.

The nurse shared a knowing look with Ed, but didn't say anything because Dr. Nile—along with several other nurses—arrived. They quickly ushered Ed out of the room, explaining they needed to run several tests and it would be easier without another person there. He didn't go far, though. He stood in the hall right outside the room and waited. Looking down at his left hand, he clenched and unclenched it several times, trying to get the blood flowing again. He stared at it for a long time, watching as the lines disappeared, before he slowly slid down the wall, coming to rest in a sitting position on the floor, his knees raised.

That's when the dam broke. He liked to pretend that he was stoic, liked to put the tough guy face forward as much as he could. He heard people walking by, but just then, he didn't care. As his shoulders started to shake, tears began slipping down his face and falling onto his shirt, taking with them all of the fear he'd been feeling from the moment Spike had yelled 'WAIT!' right up until the moment Sam's eyes had met his—just now—and he'd known that everything was going to be okay. As the terror of the last few days fell away, it was replaced with an overwhelming joy. He was indescribably happy that Sam was awake and, seemingly, all right (all things considered). He now hoped that Sam would be able to talk some sense into Spike and help him get over his ridiculous feelings of guilt.

A hand touched his shoulder, causing him to startle. He glanced up and his eyes met the concerned gaze of a young woman. "Are you all right?" She asked.

He let out a choked laugh because she was mistaking his tears as a sign of bad news, when in actuality, they were just the opposite. "Yeah," he answered, wiping his face, "Yeah I'm all right."

"Are you the one we've had trouble keeping out of the hospital? The one with the SRU officer that was brought in a week ago?" Her lips quirked up in a smile.

Ed returned her smile with one of his own. "Guilty." He stood. "So I've gotten a reputation huh?"

She nodded and whispered conspiratorially, "Your friend is the talk of the break room, and the fact that you're willing to stick around for him for so long hasn't gone unnoticed. If you weren't married," she gestured towards his ring, "I think you'd have gotten several proposals by now."

He raised his eyebrows at that, and she continued teasingly. "Though maybe not. I think most of the ladies have been holding out until he wakes up to propose to _him_."

Ed scoffed. "They'll change their minds the moment they speak with him and he's no longer just a pretty face."

"Oh no! He's more than a pretty face to them! Oh sure, he's handsome and single, but there's so much more."

Ed was dubious. "You haven't even met him."

"We don't need to. We've already learned a lot about him: he's a young but talented officer that was injured while protecting innocent people, he fought to protect and serve his country, and we can tell that he's definitely a good man and friend, because if he wasn't, you and your teammates wouldn't be hanging around so much." She finished with an air of finality, daring him to dispute the proof she regarded as irrefutable. "We've all been rooting for him, and I'm happy to hear he's awake."

He laughed, amazed; even while asleep, Sam was still able to charm the hearts of those around him. He raised his hands in surrender, grateful to this woman for helping him to regain his footing. "Okay, I get it, and you're right on all 's nice to know that we've had unknown supporters throughout this mess, and I'm glad we've been able to give you an interesting topic of conversation." He held out his hand, "I'm Ed."

"Rebecca." She clasped his hand in return.

The door to Sam's room opened and Dr. Nile stepped out. He nodded to Rebecca, then turned to Ed. "Well I have to say that I'm impressed. He has no spinal injury or paralysis, and he's already asking us when he gets to leave." He shared a smile with Ed, knowing how worried the man had been these past few days, and how happy he must be to hear this news.

"That's wonderful, Doctor. I'll set him straight about leaving here—I expect that won't be for a

while?"

The doctor nodded. "I can't tell you exactly when, and I don't even feel comfortable giving you an educated guess, because my educated guess as to when he would wake up was tomorrow at the earliest. At this point, I'd say we'll just have to take it one day at a time, though I expect he'll be out of here sooner rather than later."

"What about his injuries? How are his ribs and lungs?"

"Healing. Slowly, but they're healing. He did aggravate the wounds during his spasm when he woke up, but we've changed his pain medication in hopes that that won't happen again. Now, if you have any questions at all, please don't hesitate to ask them. You can always locate me through the nurse's station."

"Thank you doctor. Thanks for putting up with me. I know that hasn't been easy." Ed smiled, unrepentant, and reached out to shake hands with the man.

"My pleasure, Ed. I hope you can get some rest now." He hurried off to attend to his many other patients.

Rebecca waved as she, too, walked away to return to her duties, leaving Ed alone in the hallway.

Gathering himself, he headed outside to catch some fresh air and call the people anxiously waiting for news on Sam.

Once there and settled on a bench, he pulled out his phone. He knew he should probably call Greg or Natalie first, but he didn't have Natalie's number, and there was someone else who needed the good news more—plus, he could call under the pretense that he was looking for Natalie's number.

The phone rang only once before it was answered, telling Ed that the person hadn't been asleep even though it was two in the morning. "What's up Ed?"

"Hey Spike, do you have Sam's sister's number? I need to reach her."

There was a pause. "Yeah, what's happened? Is Sam okay?"

Ed let a huge smile spread across his face, hoping Spike would be able to hear it in his voice. "Sam is absolutely okay. He's more than okay, in fact; he's awake and talking and doesn't have any memory problems or paralysis. He had trouble right as he was waking up—his muscles cramped and that wasn't pretty, but he's doing all right now."

There was an even longer pause this time, and Ed could picture the Italian, eyes closed, letting that wonderful information sink in. "Spike? You still there?"

"Yeah Ed, I'm here. I can call Nat for you. And Wordy. You call the Sarge and he can call Jules. Have you gotten any sleep buddy?"

Had he gotten any sleep? Well, no, but had Spike? "Nope, hospital chairs are not conducive to a good night's sleep."

"You should go home then. I'll come over and relieve you just as soon as I can."

Ed smiled. A master manipulator he was not, except when it really mattered. "Okay Spike, thanks. That'd be great."

He called Greg next. He was happy to hear that the Boss had been sleeping, though he felt guilty having awakened him. Greg was quick to reassure him that he was glad for the call, saying he'd be able to sleep much better now. They were not on shift that day, so he assured Ed that he'd stop by at some point. After making sure that Ed would be going home soon, he hung up, promising that he'd call Jules right away.

Task accomplished, he went back inside and took the long way back to Sam's room, stretching his legs.


	13. Chapter 13

The lights were dim and Sam appeared relaxed when Ed entered, so he assumed that the exhausted man was asleep again. As he moved forward and sat in the terribly uncomfortable chair, he noticed that the nasal cannula had been removed while he was gone. He resumed the position he'd had all during his vigil while waiting for Sam to wake up.

"Don't you dare tell me to wake up."

Startled by the ex-soldier's voice, having been unaware that he was awake, he asked, "Sam?"

"I'm not sleeping. So if you ask me if I am, or tell me to wake up, I swear that I will get out of this bed and make you wish you'd never said those words." He shifted his shoulder, eliciting a wince. "On second thought, I will get out of this bed just as soon as I'm recovered, and _then_ I will make you wish you'd never said those words." His eyes opened and he peered over at Ed.

The bald man smiled. "Feeling well enough to crack jokes are we?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm not joking."

Ed glared at him. "If you get out of that bed before the doctors say you are good and ready, then I will make _you_ wish you hadn't even entertained the thought."

Sam sighed in resignation, recognizing that he was in no shape to move. After a moment of comfortable silence between the two men, he pinned Ed's gaze with his own and held it. "I'm glad it's me and not you."

Ed frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Before. You said you wished it was you in the east window, not me. Well, I'm glad it wasn't you."

"You heard that huh?" He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, I'm not glad. You've been through enough."

"And you haven't? Besides, it was my idea to go through the windows; imagine how I would feel if you'd been shot because of me? This way is better: my harebrained idea worked, and I was the only one that suffered from it." The bleakness of the look that Ed gave him caused him to change his statement. "Or, at least, I'm the only one that suffered physically from it." A small feeling of warmth blossomed in his chest—it grieved him to know that he'd caused his team worry and pain, but at the same time, it was good to know that they cared.

Conceding that younger man's point, Ed nodded. "I suppose. Let's just go with the wish that it hadn't happened in the first place. That's something both of us can agree upon right?"

Sam's face suddenly lit up in a smile. "I don't know. I think some good has come of this. It's nice to know that I'm missed."

"Well of course you are misse—" He paused, his brain catching up to his mouth and realizing what Sam had said and what he, Ed, had let slip. "Now wait just a minute! What else did you hear?"

Sam grinned, eyes sparkling with humor—a stark contrast from the dark circles beneath them. "Oh, just something about my marksmanship being better than yours."

Ed's mouth opened then closed, and opened again. He couldn't get words out from around his tied tongue, until he finally settled on denial. "I never said that."

"Oh I know: 'you'll deny it to your grave.' I know that you know that you admitted it, and that's all that matters. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He winked.

"Oh shut up." Ed grumbled, regretting the fact that he had indeed admitted that.

The air in the room turned more serious as the smile dropped off of Sam's face and he asked, "So you want to fill me in on what happened?"

Worry spiked in Ed's stomach. "What? I thought you remembered? Are you feeling okay? Forgetting anything else?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, Ed. I'm not forgetting anything else. I was unconscious for a fair bit of it after I was shot, and I'm pretty sure my ear piece fell out—either that or I was just out of it—" he muttered under his breath before continuing, "So I didn't hear much of what was going on."

Ed blew out a breath before leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. "Well, Spike figured out that the mother of the other victim was a sniper just as you and I were about to enter—that's why he yelled at us to wait—but it was too late for that so I went in and took down Maclaney no problem. He wasn't really violent, he was just playing us and pushing all the right buttons so we thought he was going to hurt one of the hostages." He hesitated, not sure whether he should add this next bit or not. He didn't want to burden Sam, but at the same time… "Spike's really beating himself up about not getting Harrison's information sooner. I keep trying to tell him that there was nothing he could have done, but he won't hear it. I'm hoping now that you're awake that that will change, but…" He let his voice trail off, unsure of what, exactly, he wanted to say.

Sam picked up where he left off. "But that's doubtful given how stubborn Spike can be, so you think if it comes from me, he'll hear it."

Ed nodded in confirmation.

"Well of course I'll talk to him. You're absolutely right that there was no way he could have stopped what happened. I'll take care of it, Ed. You can let it go."

The Team Leader sighed in relief. Until Sam had voiced it aloud, he hadn't realized that that was his problem: that he'd exhausted all options in helping his teammate, and had been no help at all. "Thanks. Okay," he continued, "So after I secured Maclaney, I had no idea what was going on. Man you would not believe the sinking feeling I got when I realized you hadn't entered the room with me." He shuddered. "The Boss told me what was going on, we cleared the hostages and Maclaney, and then we were able to focus on getting you to safety. Harrison had a clear shot to the east window, so we went down from the west one and I pulled you around the 'artistic concrete.'"

Sam groaned.

"So you remember that huh? Still gonna find the architect who designed that?"

Sam flapped his hand at Ed. "Oh just get on with it."

"Before I rappelled down to get you, I was actually able to break through to Maclaney, and he told us what building Harrison was in. Thank God I did, because if I hadn't, you'd have been waiting a lot longer and I'm not sure you would've…" He couldn't finish the sentence. Sam's gaze locked with his and he nodded his understanding. "Anyway, the police were able to locate and arrest her, and we got you to a hospital as fast as we could. You were the only casualty, Sam. No one else was injured." He knew the young man would want to know that.

Sam nodded his understanding. "Thank you."

"Just doing my job."

"No, seriously Ed." He reached out and grabbed onto Ed's hand, more gently than an hour before, but firmly nonetheless. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Ed squeezed Sam's hand before placing it back by his side. "You're welcome."

They were interrupted by a commotion down the hall. A security guard ran past the door, causing Ed to leap up. "I'll be right back." He called over his shoulder, running towards the sounds of shouting. As he approached, it quickly became clear what was happening.

"If you don't let me see my friend right now, I swear that you will regret the day you were born!" Spike yelled at the security guard blocking his path.

"Sir, our visiting hours are over! I cannot let you in right now! If you come back in the morning, I'd be happy to let you see him!"

"Hey!" Ed shouted, drawing everyone's attention to him as he hurried towards the small gathering of people. "Hey! He's with me! Let him through!"

The security guard looked at him in doubt and opened his mouth, ready to refuse. "I'm sorry sir, I can't—"

"No, let him through." Rebecca cut in, walking up from behind Ed.

The security guard met Rebecca, then Ed's, gaze, and nodded. He stepped aside and Spike brushed by. "Thank you." The Italian muttered, still mad that he'd been delayed.

Ed gave a more sincere thank you to Rebecca.

"No problem. You guys have waited long enough."

Spike and Ed walked back down the hall towards Sam's room. Ed could tell that Spike was nervous, but he chose not to comment. They reached the door and Spike stopped a moment, before he placed his hand firmly on the handle and pushed.


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N.**I hope this chapter doesn't seem anti-climactic or short or sudden. I had a little trouble with this one, but I think it turned out all right. After this, I think there's only one more chapter left, an epilogue of sorts. Thanks for all of the reads and reviews! I'm so glad you all are enjoying this story.

* * *

The entered the room and approached the bed hesitantly, unsure if Sam was awake or not. The Italian opened his mouth to say something, but Ed cut him off quickly. "Whatever you do, don't ask him if he's asleep or tell him to wake up."

Spike raised his eyebrows in question; he made a note to himself to ask about it at a later time, understanding that there was a story behind that statement. He switched tactics. "So Ed, do you think Sam's asleep?"

Ed considered the question. Sam had had a rough couple of hours and had been using a lot of energy, talking with the doctors and with Ed himself, so he wouldn't be surprised if he'd fallen asleep in the short time that Ed had been gone. Add to that the fact that he hadn't jumped in to correct Spike, and Ed would say that yes, their teammate was asleep. "I'd say he is, Spike. Tell you what: why don't you take this lovely chair here," he gestured to the deceptively comfortable looking chair he'd vacated just a few minutes before, "stay the rest of the night and get a couple good neck cramps, and I'll go home and remind myself that I have a wife. I, and the team, will be here in the morning sometime."

"Sounds like a plan. Get some rest buddy, you're looking old."

Ed glared at him, before shaking his head and heading out the door, hoping that Sam would be able to help Spike resolve his feelings of guilt.

Spike settled back in the chair, wincing immediately. "Man. Ed sat in this for how many hours and he can still walk?" His respect for the man grew. As he eyed Sam's pale complexion and slightly pain lined face, he sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be complaining; no matter how uncomfortable I am, you are a lot worse off."

He closed his eyes involuntarily and shuddered, because for a moment, his mind went back to that split second after he'd yelled 'wait' and then heard the gunshots. He'd been sure that Sam and Ed were dead… gone… which was why he'd ignored protocol and raced out of the van and towards the building, desperate to get to his teammates. As he'd been running, he'd looked up towards the windows and seen Sam… just Sam, dangling on the end of his safety line, limp. For a moment, one single moment, he'd been glad because he knew Ed must have made it inside and at least one of his teammates wasn't going to die because of him. But then he'd realized what that meant: Sam had probably taken two armor piercing rounds and was now still in range of the sniper, and therefore out of his team's reach. The climb to the thirty-fifth floor had been the longest of Spike's life. The whole way up he had no idea if Sam was still alive, or if they would be able to get to him. The Italian had heard Greg and Ed talking rapidly, but neither of them knew Sam's status either.

The dread that had filled him as he'd peered over the edge of the broken window to get a glimpse of his injured teammate threatened to overwhelm him now. He opened his eyes and stared at Sam, reassuring himself that his friend was still alive… still breathing. The heart monitor continued its steady beep, and Sam's chest continued to rise and fall evenly. The fact that these simple things were comforting, hit Spike hard. He let out a choked sob. "God, Sam… we were this close to losing you and it's all my fault! If I'd just been a little faster with Harrison's file, or realized there might be other victims sooner, I could have prevented this!"

"For someone sitting next to a guy who's trying to sleep, you sure make a lot of noise."

Spike's head shot up and his eyes met the calm—very awake—gaze of Sam Braddock. "Hey Samtastic!" He quickly wiped the tears from his face. "I thought you'd rather see my pretty face then continue trying for beauty sleep in a place like this."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Much appreciated." He eyed the bomb expert. "Speaking of beauty sleep, it doesn't look like you've gotten much of that yourself."

"What?" Spike demanded indignantly. "You saying I look ugly?"

"No. Just exhausted."

With that simple statement, all joking left the air and a tense silence followed. Spike desperately hoped one of them would suddenly smile and change the subject, but the moment Sam's eyes met his, he knew he was out of luck.

"Spike…" Sam started.

"No Sam! Please don't! Nothing you say will change my mind. It was my fault, period. End of story!"

"Spik—" Sam tried again.

"I said stop! You almost died because of me! I can't believe I was so helpless—"

"Spike! Listen to me."

The Italian stopped.

"Are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Tell me what you just said."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"What you just said, tell me."

"What do you mean? I just said what I just said." He frowned, not quite sure if that made any sense, but Sam continued as if it had.

"I know, but I need you to hear it. I'll repeat it for you: I almost died."

Spike was amazed at the calm way the ex-soldier was able to admit that.

"Know the most important word in that sentence?" San continued, voice level. "_Almost_. I didn't die, I _almost_ died."

"Yeah but you _almost _died because of _me_."

"But I didn't." Sam said quietly. "The fact of the matter is that in that situation, there was nothing you could have done that you didn't do. There's no way you could have gotten Harrison's file fast enough; Ed and I were on that roof and outside that window for twenty minutes. The whole hot call lasted forty—at least up until Maclaney was detained. In the twenty minutes before we went out on the roof, were you slacking? Moving too slowly? No. I heard you. You were working as fast and hard as you could, just like we all were." He paused and smiled a bittersweet smile. "Spike, we can think forever about 'almosts' and 'what ifs' and 'I could haves…' What if my aim had been off that day I shot my friend? What if I'd just grazed his helmet or been able to see it was him? But it wasn't, I didn't, and I couldn't." Sam's gaze dropped from Spike's.

"Yeah but Sam, that was different." Spike protested. "There was nothing you could have done."

"And what could you have done?" His gaze snapped back up to meet Spike's. "Please, tell me. What could you have done? Are you honestly telling me that there was something you didn't do that caused me to be here? That caused me to be shot?!" Anger seeped into the ex-soldier's gaze and he scowled. "Because if so, I'd really like to hear what it was and why the hell you didn't do it!"

For a moment Spike was speechless. He hadn't expected this. Assurances that he wasn't at fault, people yelling at his pigheadedness, that he'd been prepared for. But with this anger directed at him, the only thing he wanted to do was stop it. "No, Sam—I, I mean—I could… I couldn't have… well, or maybe I could." He stammered, uncertain of what he was trying to say until finally it hit him: the only thing that would assuage Sam's anger was the truth, and just at that moment, Spike realized what the truth was. "I guess, I mean, there was nothing I could have done. Dammit! I'm sorry but there was nothing I could have done!" He exclaimed, fighting back the emotion that threatened to close his throat.

Just like that, Sam's face cleared and he smiled. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Uh… excuse me?" Spike asked, flabbergasted.

"I know that there was nothing you could have done, and now I know that _you_ know that there was nothing you could have done. That's not what's bothering you—not what's _really_ bothering you—what's really bothering you is that it was out of your hands. And trust me buddy, that's what's bothering all of us."

Spike sat there in silence for a moment, staring at his hands and stewing over what Sam had said. Gradually a sense of acceptance—and, not peace, but something close to it—settled over him. "Okay." He looked up and smiled for the first time since this mess had started. "You win."

Sam sat back in relief and let his eyes close. "Of course I do. I always win."

Given the circumstances, Spike decided to let that comment slide.

"Heads up," Sam muttered from his somewhat prone position on the hospital bed, "I think I'm falling asleep here. All that heart to heart stuff wore me out."

The Italian laughed. "That's all right buddy. You've earned the rest. I'll be here whenever you wake up again, and the rest of the team's coming in the morning."

Sam would have replied, probably with a witty retort of some sort, but he'd already drifted into an exhausted, healing sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.** Last chapter! Thank you to everyone who alerted, favorited, and especially to those that reviewed! You all are amazing and you make me want to write more and more.

This chapter is just a bit of humor and fluff to round out the story. I couldn't resist. A special thanks to Invisible Observer 813 for the fantastic idea that inspired this chapter!

In answer to Guest reviewer, I would love to write more but do not currently have any ideas. Please, if any of you _do_ have an idea, just drop me a message or a review with it and I'll see if I can make it work!

Thanks again, everyone. I hope you enjoy this final, short little ending!

* * *

For the first time since he'd set foot in the hospital two weeks ago, Ed was able to walk through the halls without despising them. There was a small spring in his normally quiet step, and he was even whistling softly. The reason for this change in attitude was that Sam was going home today. He'd recovered much more quickly than the doctors had expected, and, while by no means was he fully healed, he was well enough that he was making life difficult for the staff such that they wanted him gone. Ed suspected that this had been Sam's intention the whole time—and it was a good strategy because if he'd instead just kept insisting on leaving, he probably would've been refused. Because Ed had no proof and doubted he'd be able to get Sam to admit it, he let the matter drop; he was just happy Sam was finally getting out of there.

It had been a rough week for everyone, but not nearly as bad as the week prior when Sam had still been unconscious. One good thing came of the week, however, and that was Spike's sudden return to his happy, humorous self. Ed knew he had Sam to thank for that; though he didn't know exactly what had been said, he knew that things were well on their way to returning to normal… or as normal as Team One ever got.

He reached Sam's room and stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Sam was sitting up in bed, legs dangling over the side. He was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and sweatpants, and though he looked tired, he was laughing—or rather, trying very hard _not_ to laugh, in order not to aggravate his stitches, but was failing. The reason he was laughing was because Spike had clearly been zooming around the room in a wheelchair, but was now on his side, one wheel spinning madly in the air, pinned against the wall.

"It's not funny, Sam!" The bomb specialist yelled, smiling good naturedly. "My grip slipped and this wall came out of nowhere!" He struggled furiously, trying to squeeze out of the wheelchair, but he was having little success because his shirt had somehow become stuck.

Sam continued to try not to laugh, but it was becoming more and more difficult as the Italian entangled himself in an unused IV line.

When Sam began to gasp for air and Spike looked to be hopelessly tangled, Ed decided to intervene. "Okay," he stepped into the room, making his presence known, "Let's all stop before Spike actually needs that wheelchair and Sam can't breathe."

"Ed!" Spike greeted happily. "Perfect timing! Help me up!" He stuck out his hand towards the Team Leader, fully expecting the aid. He was disappointed.

Ed crossed his arms and grinned devilishly. "You got yourself into that mess, you can get yourself out." Turning his back on Spike's protests, he met Sam's laughing gaze. "How you doing Samo?"

"Not too shabby." Sam spoke quietly, using as little breath as possible.

"You sure you should leave today? I would hate for you to collapse the moment you set foot outside of the hospital."

"What are you talking about, Ed?" Spike exclaimed just as he was able to extricate himself from the tangled IV line and wheelchair. He leapt to his feet. "There will be no collapsing by Samtastic! He's got to live up to his nickname after all."

Ed was skeptical, but remained quiet on that subject. "All right, well let's get this show on the road and get outta here."

"Just a minute…" Sam objected. "I… uh—I need someone to help me get my shoes on." He stared sadly down at his feet. Normally such a short distance away from his hands, today it seemed an impossible stretch. He cleared his throat. "Um, the doctor said it wouldn't be a good idea for me to bend forward much, and, I hate to say it, but I agree with him."

"No problem!" Spike assured him. "Ed here will be happy to assist. Won't you Ed?" The Italian turned his bright gaze to the older man.

"Now wait a minute. Why don't you do it?" Ed countered.

"Because, Ed," Spike said patiently, as if speaking to a child, "I already helped him with his clothes, so fair is fair and you get to help with the shoes."

"Besides," Sam spoke up from the bed, "Spike's going to be doing a lot of this over the next week or two, so give him a break and don't make this any more awkward than it already is."

"All the more reason why he should do it: it would be good practice." When he was met with silence from the two men, he threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "All right. Where are the boots?"

"Over in the closet." Spike pointed.

Ed turned and went to grab the shoes. In truth, he was perfectly happy to help out—even if that meant putting Sam's shoes on—because as Spike had pointed out, it was only fair. When the doctors had given the go ahead that Sam could go home, they'd done it with the stipulation that he not be alone for the next few weeks; he was recovering, but there were many tasks he could not do himself (such as put his own shoes on). When they'd learned this, Spike had immediately volunteered. He'd already packed a bag for himself and dropped it at Sam's place, and laid in supplies and the proper amount of movies and TV shows to occupy Sam's time while he was forced to remain inactive. Ed was glad that Spike had been the one to take the job. He knew that the Italian would be able to balance helping Sam and making sure the ex-soldier didn't feel smothered, and he also knew that this would help Spike's residual feelings of guilt to disappear.

Grabbing the boots, he turned back to the bed and saw Spike holding out a chair for him. "It'll probably be easiest this way." Spike explained.

Taking the proffered chair, he sat and reached down and picked up Sam's left foot and pulled it up into his lap. He raised his eyes and met Sam's stare. The ex-soldier grimaced. "I refuse to be embarrassed."

Ed chuckled, blushing a little himself. "No call for embarrassment. You were injured in the line of duty so it's the least we can do." He finished tying the laces then reached for the other foot. "So. The doc says you can probably start training for requalifying in three weeks, and knowing you, you'll probably be back on the team in four. Right?"

Sam nodded. "As quickly as I can, anyway."

Ed nodded. "That's what I figured. It'll be good to have you back. Spike's been complaining." He finished putting the boot on and set Sam's foot down. When he sat back and looked at the man, he saw that Sam's shoulders were shaking. "Sam you okay? Do you need to lie down?" When he received no reply, he reached forward and placed a hand on one of the shaking shoulders. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam made a strangled sound, and it was then that Ed realized he was laughing. He narrowed his eyes. "What's so funny."

Unable to control himself any longer, Sam let out a full blown roar of laughter—cringing as it pulled as his stitches—and Ed's suspicion double tenfold. "All right, what's going on?" He went to stand… he was met with resistance. Frowning, he tried to rise again and the chair moved with him. Realization dawned on him as Spike walked around until he was in front of Ed and grinned. "No." Ed stated in disbelief.

"Yes!" Spike cried happily, pumping his fist in the air. "That," he stated gleefully, "is for the comment about me being no more annoying than a fly!"

Ed's glare turned to Sam. "You knew about this?"

Unabashed, Sam nodded. His laughter had subsided, but he was still smiling. "Time to go, Spike."

"Absolutely Sam. Good idea." The Italian grabbed the wheelchair and, after untangling it, brought it over to the bed. Sam stood up carefully, supported by Spike, then slowly maneuvered himself into the seat.

Realizing what was about to happen, Ed spoke up hurriedly. "Okay, whoa. You cannot leave me here!"

Spike and Sam looked at each other. "Pretty sure we can." Spike informed Ed happily, starting to wheel Sam towards the door.

"I take it back! You're a pain in the ass and a master at payback!" Ed pleaded desperately. When Spike showed no sign of slowing, he added. "Come one Spike… I'll write you up for insubordination!"

"I'm not on the clock right now, Ed." Spike called over his shoulder. "This is just from one friend to another. There's a hospital gown on the end of the bed for when you get desperate!"

Sam held up his hand and waved at Ed. "Thanks for saving my life. I'll owe you one… just not right now!" He high fived Spike and the two disappeared down the hall. Ed could still hear their laughter long after they were out of sight.

His gaze fell on the horridly ugly blue gown on the foot of the bed, then on the innocent, pinky sized, white tube on the bedside table that's label read: _Ultra Stick Super Glue._

"Damn."


End file.
